


Nothing Left to Lose

by jacyevans



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (Not among the main pairing. See story notes for details.), Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mating Bites, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Panic Attacks, Sheriff Stilinski’s name is John, Werewolf Sheriff Stilinski, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:46:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25533817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacyevans/pseuds/jacyevans
Summary: Derek doesn’t talk much.Stiles supposes it's a response to being away from his pack, of being thrown to a group of people who often mock him, and not being able to do a damn thing but take it.Stiles wouldn’t have much to say, either.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 12
Kudos: 125





	Nothing Left to Lose

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in response to a kink meme prompt that I can no longer find (and may not have even been a Teen Wolf prompt), but it was something along the lines of "[Character's] pack is caught changing humans against their will. The entire pack is punished with collars that keep them from ever being able to shift again. Maybe a permanent ring around their knot to keep them from having sex?"
> 
> There is NO sex in this story, alluded to or otherwise, but it is very clear that all of what has been done to Derek was done as a punishment and against his will.
> 
> ~~This is so different from anything else I have ever written that I am posting it Anon for now. I may claim it later. I haven't decided yet.~~ I've decided to claim it, after a lot of consideration. I'm really proud of how this fic came out, even if it's darker than my usual fic choices.
> 
> Please consider leaving a comment if you enjoyed the story. I’m curious as to what people think.

Derek doesn’t talk much.

Stiles supposes it's a response to being away from his pack, of being thrown to a group of people who often mock him, and not being able to do a damn thing but take it.

Stiles wouldn’t have much to say, either.

\--

Stiles’ father puts him in charge of Derek, tells him to show him the ropes.

“Keep an eye on him,” John says, though it's readily apparent, Derek doesn’t need minding. He goes where he’s ordered, does as he’s told, treats the pack with respect, even when they don’t show him the same.

“Look at the pack bitch,” Ethan sneers while Aiden laughs. 

“He might as well be.”

Stiles’ head snaps up from where he’s training with his packmates across the yard. Erica glares, eyes flashing. 

“Leave him alone, Ethan,” Scott snaps, and Ethan snorts, shoulders his brother, and leaves Derek be.

Derek’s hand clenches into a fist, but he doesn’t say a word.

\--

The first full moon, they leave Derek alone at the pack house. He can’t transform, after all.

As soon as Stiles shifts into his fox-skin, Scott bowls him ass-over-tail, he and Isaac howling with glee and taunting Stiles to give chase.

There’s breakfast on the table when the pack returns, to their surprise. Derek retreats before John can thank him, face ashen, body drooping like he can barely stand.

Stiles finds him in the garden, tugging up weeds with bare hands.

Hands that still as Erica and Boyd walk past, hand in hand. Erica kisses Boyd on the cheek, and he lifts her over his shoulder, making her laugh.

Derek swallows as he watches the bonded mates with a longing so strong, Stiles’ heart aches in sympathy.

“Hey,” Stiles says softly, “You okay?”

Derek’s fingers dig deep into the dirt, every muscle taut. “I’m fine.”

\--

Stiles is sitting with his father in the study, discussing assignments for the week’s perimeter checks, when someone knocks on the door. Derek walks through, hands twisted up in the hem of his shirt.

“Derek,” John says, surprised. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek murmurs, shoulders curved down, shrinking into his body. “I just-- I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

Stiles’ father looks at Derek for a long moment before he nods.

“Do you--” Derek pauses at the full force of the Alpha’s stare. He licks his lips. “Do you know what happened? To my family?”

“Your uncle was executed. Along with your Alpha.”

Derek doesn’t flinch; it's the look of a man who has trained all emotion right out of himself.

“What about my father? My sisters?”

John hesitates at the hope in Derek’s voice. Eventually, he sighs and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Derek, but I don’t know.”

Derek swallows, drops his head even further, and nods, shuffling from the room.

\--

On Derek’s fourth full moon, Stiles returns to the house late from work. He plans to strip his clothes and run to meet the rest of his pack.

He’s halfway undressed when Derek’s heartbeat filters through the hall, a pounding rhythm that sends Stiles rushing upstairs. He finds Derek hyperventilating on the floor of his room, clawing at the collar around his neck and leaving bloody furrows behind.

“Derek, stop!” Stiles goes to his knees, holding Derek’s hands down at his sides, and for the first time, Derek fights back, ripping out of Stiles’ grasp and punching him in the face, yanking on the collar until he can’t breathe.

Stiles wrestles him to the ground, putting as little pressure as possible on his chest. Derek tries to yank himself out of Stiles’ grip, flailing like a wild animal.

Stiles calls Derek’s name, once, twice, lets go of his hands so he can grip Derek’s face, eyes flashing gold.

Derek freezes and meets his gaze. Stiles coaches him through his breathing until his heartbeat returns to some semblance of normal. 

He scurries away until his back is against the wall, reeking of shame and misery. “You should have just left me alone,” Derek says, voice hoarse. 

He doesn’t come out of his room at all the next day.

\--

Eight months to the day Derek was tossed on their doorstep, the head of the Council of Elders comes to speak with Stiles’ father.

“Any problems?” Deucalion asks, and Alpha Stilinski glances over at his son with raised eyebrows.

Stiles thinks of Derek’s fist colliding with his face, Derek getting sicker and sicker with every passing moon.

“No, sir,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “No problems at all.”

Except he can’t get the image of Derek’s desperate face out of his mind for the rest of the day. Sleep eludes him, and he throws the covers off of his legs. He tugs on a t-shirt and a pair of pants, heads downstairs intending to go for a run to clear his head.

Derek’s sitting on the front porch looking up at the moon, a sliver of light in the sky. Stiles sits down next to him on the porch swing, rubbing his hands over his thighs.

“I don’t want you to think you don’t have any friends here,” Stiles whispers; Derek blinks, jaw clenching, but he doesn’t look down. Stiles sighs and starts to stand.

“It was my uncle, you know.”

Stiles turns back around, startled.

“He wanted my mother’s power. He was turning humans against their will - building himself a pack.” 

Stiles collapses back onto the swing, unable to look away from Derek while he speaks to the sky. 

“My mother had no idea. None of us knew, but - when he was caught, the Elders punished the whole pack. We had no idea what they meant until they killed my mother. Tore her throat out, right in front of us.” Stiles flinches, hard. “They split us up and the collars were soldered around our necks and--” Derek cuts himself off, hand twisting into a fist at his side.

“You don’t deserve this,” Stiles says, can’t even imagine what it must be like, watching and feeling his Alpha die, being cut off from his pack and his fur.

Derek huffs a laugh that comes out rough as broken glass. When he finally looks at Stiles, there are tears in his eyes.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes,” Stiles says, and Derek’s eyes widen, lips parting. “You matter, Derek.”

Stiles leans forward, pausing for a heartbeat, then two before closing the distance between them.

Derek lets out a rough sound of almost-pain when their lips touch and rips his face away, chest heaving as he sucks in a lungful of air. 

“I can’t,” he croaks, sidestepping Stiles and fleeing into the house.

\--

They find Derek collapsed on the kitchen floor barely breathing, the morning after Derek’s twelfth full moon with the Stilinski pack.

The Elders say it's shock, the pain of not being able to shift, of not having a pack, taking its toll. 

“Punishment isn’t supposed to be pleasant,” Deucalion says, while Derek stares at the wall and says nothing, jaw clenched so tightly, Stiles fears for his teeth.

“This isn’t punishment,” Stiles says to his father when Deucalion leaves. “It’s torture.”

His Alpha agrees; there still isn’t anything he can do.

Stiles drapes his arm around Derek’s shoulders, half-carrying him out of his father’s study. 

“What do you need?” Stiles murmurs. 

Derek’s breath stutters out as Stiles heaves him up the stairs. “Shower,” he croaks.

Stiles nudges a shivering Derek into the bathroom, slowly stripping off his clothes. He drags Derek’s boxers down and inhales sharply. Derek freezes.

There’s a silver ring around the base of Derek’s cock where his knot would be, tight enough that Derek must be in pain every day. Arousal must be agony.

Stiles looks up at Derek’s tense, hardened face, thinks of the sound of pain Derek made when they kissed, and feels like he’s going to throw up.

\--

In the days that follow, Derek withdraws from everyone except the cubs; playing with the pack children is the only time Stiles sees the lines of Derek’s face ease.

He avoids Stiles like the plague.

Stiles tells his father about the night Derek tried to claw off his collar, about the ring around his knot, even about the kiss on the porch.

“You care about him,” John says, and Stiles swallows hard.

“Yes. I do.”

Stiles walks out of the study and up to Derek’s room, careful to make his presence known long before he opens the door. The walls and shelves are still as bare as the day he moved in, the single duffel bag of his belongings unzipped on top of an empty dresser. Stiles’ stomach twists.

Derek lies on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, but his fingers twist in Stiles’ shirt when he gets close enough. He tugs Stiles down onto the bed, curling into Stiles as if he could disappear into his body.

“I wish I could help you,” Stiles whispers and Derek buries his face in Stiles’ neck.

Maybe...

“What if I claimed you?”’

Derek stiffens, stops breathing. “What?”

Stiles loosens his arms, giving Derek a means to escape. “If I give you a mating bite - you’d be connected to the pack through the bond. To me.”

Derek exhales, his breath warm against Stiles’ throat. He stays silent for so long, Stiles would wonder if he’s fallen asleep, except for the too-quick beat of his heart.

“It might work,” Derek says, slowly. He huffs a sad, little laugh. “It's not like I have anything left to lose.”

\--

Stiles presents his idea to the Elders.

His father offers support, mentions Stiles taking another mate someday, furthering their line. They make Stiles’ claim seem more like a punishment than a lifeline so they’re more inclined to agree.

They do.

Stiles wishes he could make this better, easier, but one pain would be traded for another. Sex would make this feel good for anyone else. 

Not for Derek. 

“You ready?” he asks; they’re in front of the entire Elder Council, forced to do this with an audience. Kali, Deucalion’s right-hand, looks almost gleeful. Stiles growls low in his throat.

Derek tilts his head to the side, tugging down the collar of his shirt, drawing Stiles’ eyes to his throat.

Stiles cups a hand around the back of Derek’s neck, presses an open-mouthed kiss to the revealed skin before his teeth clamp down. Derek bites down on Stiles’ shirt to muffle his scream.

\--

The claim takes.

Derek stumbles out into the woods on the next full moon, pale and shivering. 

Stiles sits him down at the base of an old oak tree, strips out of his clothes and shifts, falling to the ground on four feet. He lets Derek feel what he feels through their mating bond - the moon against his fur and the tug of his pack howling in the distance.

Derek buries his face in the fur at Stiles’ throat.

“Thank you,” he says, voice shaking.

After, he curls up with his head on Stiles’ back. Stiles rolls over and shifts, wraps Derek up in his arms and holds him tight.

“I wish things could be different,” Derek whispers.

Stiles presses a kiss to the crown of his head. “Me too.”


End file.
